


Free Food and Pretty Girls

by HeyMurphy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Doctor/Patient, Emetophilia, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Overeating, could be read as the start of a Junkrat/Mercy thing, she has so much patience bless her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat stuffs himself to a stomachache and it's Dr. Ziegler to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Food and Pretty Girls

Junkrat lay sprawled on his assigned cot, limbs both gangly and metallic flopped over the edges.  His head lolled in the direction of his bodyguard who wasn’t paying attention to him, and he took a deep breath and let it go as a strained sort of whine.  “ _Oww_ …”    
  
Across the small room, not even ten feet away, Roadhog sat on the side of his own cot and flipped through the pages of the Overwatch welcome packet.  So far so good, he figured.  Aside from their not-so-stellar temporary lodging, the decision to join up with Overwatch had been a sound one.  Their time spent robbing and blowing up everything in sight came to an abrupt and near-fatal end, and Roadhog realized that if he ever wanted to get that half of whatever secret treasure Junkrat knew about, he’d need to make sure Junkrat stayed alive.  And sticking close to Overwatch seemed the easiest way to assure his employer’s survival.  
  
Roadhog most enjoyed the access to a boiling hot shower on the regular.  They didn’t even charge him for water consumption.  Junkrat on the other hand took advantage of the cafeteria several times a day, unaccustomed to the idea of readily available free food whenever he felt hungry.  And it was because of this that he now lay prone and pained.  
      
“I ain’t ever eatin’ another thing as long as I live,” he groaned, his good hand coming to rest on his stomach.  “I’m fixin’ to die over here.”  
      
Roadhog grumbled and flipped to the next page of the packet.    
      
“I mean it,” Junkrat went on, “I’m right chockers, mate.  Ya got any’a those fizzy pills on ya?”  
      
“The antacid tablets?  The ones you dropped in diet soda last week to see if they’d explode?”  
      
“I did what?”  Junkrat went quiet for a second or two and then propped himself up on his elbows to better look at his pal.  “Well, did they?”  
      
“Nope.”  
      
He flopped back down.  “Bugger.”  The act of moving put unwanted pressure on his middle and he let out another long, miserable wail.  “ _Mmnh_ , I’m hurtin’ real bad…”  
      
Roadhog glanced up from his reading.  “Would it quit your whingeing if I got a doctor for you?”  
      
“You’d do that for little ol’ me?”  
      
The burly bodyguard was already rising to his feet.  “Yeah, yeah.  Be right back.”  
      
He lumbered from their shared dormitory and ambled down the hall.  The compound was laid out like a maze, but thankfully there were signs and colored lines to lead in the right direction.  He passed a few of the staff on the way and they eyed him warily, unsure if they should greet him or not.  He nodded towards them with a grunt he hoped sounded friendly enough.  
      
The infirmary wasn’t far, maybe a five minute walk.  As he entered he noticed one of the medical personnel tapping furiously into a wall-mounted touch screen, her back to him.  Not wanting to startle her, knocked on the doorframe.  He startled her anyway.  
      
She flinched and turned from the screen, and Roadhog was suddenly face-to-face with an angel of a woman.  Her golden hair was pulled back in an effortless bun, and her bangs framed her heart-shaped face.  She took in the sight of him and smiled bright white.  “Oh!  Mr. Rutledge, what a pleasure to finally meet you.  I’d heard you and your companion were joining us.”  She stepped forward and extended a slender hand.  “Dr. Angela Ziegler, but please just call me Mercy.”  
      
Roadhog shook the hand as delicately as he could.  “Roadhog,” he said.  
      
Mercy kept smiling.  It seemed her natural state.  “And what can I do for you this evening, Mr. Roadhog?”  
      
“My employer’s got a stomachache.  Idiot ate too much.”  
      
Her grin faltered.  “Mr. Fawkes?  Oh, that’s no good.  Let me see what I have for that.”  She opened a cabinet by her desk and rifled around for a moment before finding a pale pink bottle and a small plastic cup wrapped in cellophane.  “This should do the trick.”  
      
Mercy packed a small bag and came to stand by Roadhog’s side just shy of the door.  He thought she was just going to give him the medicine and go back to her work, but it seemed she was intent on making a house call.  
      
“Lead the way, Mr. Roadhog,” she said, her smiling returning with a vengeance.  “Let’s go see my patient.”  
      
Junkrat hadn’t moved an inch, but when he heard the approaching footsteps he craned his neck to see the two of them enter.  “Oi, is that the doctor?”  He watched as Mercy entered through the doorway like a ray of sunshine, like the personification of a wooly blanket on a cold night.  She regarded him with a look of such warmth that he felt his cheeks go pink.  
      
“I am, yes.  Dr. Angela Ziegler, or just Mercy.”  She approached his cot and glanced around at the claustrophobic room.  “Is this really where they’ve put you up?  I thought this was a supply closet.”  
      
“It’s temporary,” said Roadhog, taking a seat and picking up the Overwatch material again.  “Or so they said.”  
      
Mercy turned her attentions to Junkrat, whose eyes hadn’t left her.  “Well now, I hear you have a bit of a tummy ache, Mr. Fawkes.  A shame we have to meet when you’re feeling so unwell.”  
      
Junkrat gulped down the sudden lump in his throat, at a loss for words.  Roadhog couldn’t help but notice and chuckled under his breath as he shook his head.  Kid never did know what to do around pretty girls, especially nice ones.  
      
“I brought some medicine for you to take,” she continued.  “Are you able to sit up?”  
      
“Huh?”  Junkrat snapped out of his daze.  “Yeah, I think so.”  He struggled to shift into a more upright position but moaned at the effort, clutching his stomach.  Mercy fluffed up the pillows behind him so he could sit more comfortably.  
      
She poured a shot’s worth of the pink medicine into the cup and passed it to him, and when he drank it down she put it away.  “Not so bad, right?” she asked, though Junkrat pulled a face like he’d just been poisoned.  
      
“Vile,” he choked out, eyes watering.  
      
Mercy laughed sweetly and removed a stethoscope from her bag.  “Now let me just listen to you for a moment, Mr. Fawkes.  I’d like to be sure a little overeating is all we’re dealing with.”  
      
The cold metal made contact with his chest and Junkrat yelped.  “Oi, oi!  I ain’t sick!”  But Mercy gently shushed him and put a hand on his shoulder to ease him back into the pillows.  He shot an anxious look over to Roadhog who shook a finger at him.    
      
Mercy went to work listening intently to his heart and lungs.  His heartbeat drummed wildly, much faster than she knew it should be.  She also knew he was in pain and reasonably flustered by her proximity, so she overlooked it for now.  He rattled a bit as he breathed and her eyebrows gave a little twitch of concern.  Given his penchant for explosives and years of being around so much smoke and fire, he had probably damaged his lungs in some capacity.  She made a mental note to keep on top of that should his health decline further in the future.  As she moved the stethoscope lower just under his ribs, she could hear all manner of unpleasant churning sounds.  He must have been in a tremendous amount of distress.  
      
“ _Nhg_ —”  Junkrat jolted away from her as the stethoscope pressed too hard.  “That hurts.”  
      
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Fawkes.”  Mercy hooked the earpiece down around her neck and gave his stomach a delicate rub.  “Now come, come, you should really get out of bed.  A brisk walk will do wonders for your digestion.”  
      
“A walk?!”  
      
Even though he was wearing the mask, Roadhog still covered his mouth as he muffled a laugh.  “Listen to your doctor, Jamison.”  
      
“Get stuffed, ya overgrown wombat!”  But even as Junkrat continued to complain, Mercy guided him to the edge of the cot.  With her prompting, he hung his good arm across her shoulders and she helped him to stand.  For a second Mercy was surprised at just how tall he was.  Even hunched over he stood a good half foot above her.  “ _Uhn_ —hold up, doc.”  He steadied himself against the wall with his other hand.  
      
“We’ll go slow, Mr. Fawkes.”  She caught Roadhog watching them and flashed him her best reassuring smile.  “No worries, I’ll have your employer back in a few minutes.  Just a lap around the floor.”  
      
Roadhog waved goodbye to them with a waggle of his fingers.  
      
Out in the hallway, Junkrat sluggishly limped along at Mercy’s side, still gripping his belly.  The walking was meant to help, he knew that, but all the jostling just made him worse.  Every time his metal peg leg hit the floor his stomach lurched and he felt a little more of his color drain away.  He leaned harder on Mercy’s shoulders without meaning to, but she didn’t say a word about it.  
      
“Did you build your leg and arm yourself?” she asked, hoping some conversation might distract him.  
      
“Yeah,” he said quickly, and gulped down the mounting nausea.  
      
Mercy noticed the pallor of his skin and slowed their pace.  “Our engineers could help you to upgrade them, if you’d like.  Streamline the design a bit.”  
      
“M’fine…”  
      
Mercy suspected the talking wasn’t taking his mind off things.  A couple of the staff passed them by, the same folks who had seen Roadhog, and they peered over their shoulders at Junkrat before turning to each other to whisper.  Mercy made sure to clear her throat to let them know they were being rude.  The staff hurried to turn the corner, but Mercy brought Junkrat to a stop at the bench by the washroom.  
      
“Here,” she said, “rest a spell.”  
      
He sat gingerly, cradling his stomach.  A cold sweat had started to bead at his hairline, and the gray circles beneath his eyes stood out like bruises against his ash-white face.  “Oi, doc, I really— _hgk_ —really, really don’t feel good...”  He brushed the sweat from his brow but only succeeded in smearing damp soot into his hair.  
      
Mercy brought the trashcan from the washroom out into the hall and set it between Junkrat’s knees.  “Just in case,” she said even though it looked inevitable.  She sat beside him and put a hand on his back.  
      
His eyes were unfocused, lost in the depths of that trash can.  He breathed shallow and uneven, and he spit as his mouth filled with saliva.  Suddenly his abdominals clenched, forcing out a strained, half-gagged groan, and then he was vomiting.  Mercy winced and averted her eyes, but she made certain to rub his back in support.  He held onto the rim of the can for dear life, arms trembling.  She felt the muscles in his back tighten and spasm with each awful retch.  
      
After several terrible seconds of heaving and sputtering, it was over.  Junkrat coughed his throat raw and spit a more times before finally leaning backwards and feeling Mercy’s arm there.  He rested a hand on his belly and beamed at her.      
      
“Feeling any better, Mr. Fawkes?”  
      
“Bloody _oath_ I am.  Thought I was gonna cark it for a minute there, but wasn’t nuthin’ a good chunder couldn’t fix.”    
      
Mercy suddenly felt like McCree whenever he griped about Tracer’s slang.  
      
Junkrat went for the canteen at his belt.  He downed a mouthful, swished it around, swallowed.  “Ahh, that’s the stuff.”  
      
She gave him a friendly pat, glad and surprised that he’d improved so swiftly.  “Yes, I’m sure you could use some water after all that.”  
      
He took another swig.  “Mm?  Oh, no, this ain’t water.”  
      
“It isn’t?  Then what—”  
      
“Milk tea.  S’got them little tapicoas in there.”  He sloshed it in her direction.  “Want some?”  
      
Now Mercy felt ill.  “Let’s get you back to your friend.”  


 

* * *

    

  
      
Roadhog was just finishing with the lengthy info packet by the time Mercy and Junkrat returned.  Junkrat seemed right as rain, loud and obnoxious as always.  They arrived as he ended some harrowing anecdote with a burst of his arms and accompanying explosion sound effects.  “—and we was all _PKCHEW!!_ and then they was like _BKCHOWWW!!_   Right, mate, right?  Remember that one?”  
      
Roadhog looked between Mercy’s baffled amusement and his employer’s rapturous anticipation.  “Uh, yeah, sure do.”  
      
“Bloody right ya do!”  Junkrat turned to Mercy and grabbed her by the hand, shaking her so hard she could feel her teeth clinking together.  “Ta for yer help, doc!  You’ll be seein’ lots of me, I’m sure.  Ask Roadie, I’m always sick with somethin’.  Just last week I had—oi, what’d I have?”  
      
“Pinkeye.”  
      
“Pinkeye!”  
      
Mercy ripped her hand out of his.  “Oh goodness!  Lovely to meet you boys, but I really must get back to the infirmary.  Work to do, patients to see, hands to wash.”  She waved politely and backed up out of the room, and they could heard her heels scurrying down the hall.  
      
Junkrat bopped Roadhog on the arm and grinned.  “We're makin' out like bandits here, mate.  Free food!  Pretty girls!  And that sheila’s somethin’ else, lemme tell ya.  Next mission, just you watch, I’m gonna get meself extra hurt just so I can see ‘er again.”  
      
Roadhog grumbled.  “We’re joining Overwatch to stay safe, Jamison.  No crazy stunts.”  
      
“Awright, awright.”  Junkrat huffed in irritation and let his shoulders sag.  He toppled into his cot and lay there for a minute, chipping black polish from his nails in boredom.  He sighed again and drummed fingers on his now-empty stomach.  “…ya think the cafeteria’s still open?”  
      
“Jamison _no_.”

**Author's Note:**

> me while writing this: australia is just, like, the texas of the world right? all right, let's fuck this accent through the floor.


End file.
